


Falling Stars

by isarose



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: High Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isarose/pseuds/isarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shinra kingdom relays its Knights of the First Order to the hollow where a star has fallen to the Planet. A fell creature festers in the Planet's wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It began as a twinkling new light in the night sky. A newborn star, a heavenly spark kindled to life. 

Then the once small shimmer grew into an prismatic starburst. Astromancers divined in the redrawn constellations that it was a sign from the gods, a blessing upon the Planet. Good tidings to come. Fair weather, bountiful harvests, healthy babies. People rejoiced.

It grew brighter still. It drew nearer. The spark had ignited into a burning orb, dwarfing all the weaker stellar specks in the violet darkness. All eyes turned upwards, all voices hushed; all watched with bated breath.

Then it rivaled the sun; eclipsed the moon. It bore down and the inferno in the heavens raged through the days and nights. The wrath of the gods, scorched cleansing, the end times.

The Cetra called upon the Planet, but the Planet remained still, quiet, waiting. Bracing.

The sky erupted in a blaze. The star roared through, made landfall, and gouged into the Planet a calamitous wound.

The Planet bled green. The Planet screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Breaths come as quickly as they go as the high priestess races through the richly decorated marble corridors. Silken skirts twist in her grasp, swinging from where they are gathered in her hands as she runs. A trail of curling honey-brown hair flutters behind her. Her appointed guards trot easily apace behind her, unencumbered by yard upon yard of pure white fabric.

The King's Guard stationed at both sides of colossal twin oak doors hurry to swing them open in time, and Aeris rushes through without a beat missed. Within the Great Hall, the King holds court. Crimson tapestries, with the rearing gryphon of the Shinra royal crest woven in gold thread, rise high along the walls. Guardsmen in their shadow-black leathers stand at attention at even intervals beneath them. The midday sun streaks through red stained glass and dyes the room. 

Nobles, courtiers, stewards, the king and queen's retinue, all gather around the golden throne's dais. In all the finest silks, furs, and jewels, the wealth and power amongst the lot of them is rival to the rest of the Planet's humans combined. Seated in the middle, with a worn and withering scowl, is His Majesty. All heads, including those of the Knights kneeling before the King, turn to glance at her intrusion.

“Sires,” Aeris pants, breathless with exertion and relief. She made it in time. “You cannot go to where the star fell.” Her chest still heaves to recapture lost breath, but a reassuring smile still spreads on her lips as she makes eye contact with her heavily-armored friend. She releases her skirts and smooths them out.

The King's fingers tighten around the ornately carved armrests of his throne, “Lady Aeris-”

Aeris may be the only person on the continent with the gall to interrupt His Majesty. Then again he is not her king. “They cannot go, your Highness. Whatever has befallen the Planet, it is no benevolent god, nor merciful blessing from the heavens. It is wicked.” The priestess steps forward with her head held high through the court as she nears the king, speaking with urgent authority, “They will fly to their deaths.”

The King's jowls redden and shake as he stands, but his young and dutiful Prince Rufus speaks first. “My Lady, be at ease.” His voice is calm, quiet, and condescending as he steps from beside the dais, gesturing to the still-kneeling knights, “The Knights of the First Order can vanquish any foe. If indeed this fallen star is such a wicked thing, isn't it best our kingdom face and know our enemy, before it comes to our lands?” A reassuring, and assuredly false, smile curls at his lips. It raises gooseflesh on Aeris' neck. “You are, after all, promised to protect these lands.”

Aeris shakes her head furiously, scowling at the Crown Prince, “No, I am promised to protect the Planet. That is my birthright.” Her steady gaze snaps back to the King, “And I must go to my people. They are gathering-”

“Priestess,” the King suddenly spits with scorn, at last snapping. The Prince, with a more vindictive, more true smile, steps aside for his father to thunder down the stairs. “You and your people may forget, _I_ remain sovereign in these lands. Your appointment by the treaty is to serve me, and you shall,” he punctuates his words with a stabbing finger in Aeris' face, as if she were some petulant child, “You shall stay here and guard these lands with your magics.”

Aeris' brows furrow as she shakes her head in disbelief, “I cannot- That's not something I can-” Truly, her lineage was promised in a treaty between the Cetra and the Shinra Kingdom to end their insatiable imperialism, to put and end to the bloodshed the King's kin had wrought in the surrounding continents. To bring peace to the Planet, the Cetra pledged the lineages of their own – a voluntary appointment by her grandmother and a few others – to manipulate the Planet's ley lines and ensure prosperity to the Shinra kingdom, that they need never pursue such bloodthirsty expansion again. Raising a barrier around or defending the entire kingdom, however, is beyond Aeris' bounds.

Leaving the peevish priestess tongue-tied, His Majesty's temper sizzles down to a sinister smirk. “Guards!” The two guards behind her snap to attention at the king's command, “Take her back to her chambers.”

Aeris snatches her arm away from one of the approaching guards, “You cannot keep me here against my will!” Between the two of them, they manage to gather her arms behind her back.

The king gestures a dismissal to the guards, and to Aeris' protests. “To break the treaty would be treason. I will keep you here, be it in your chambers or the dungeon. Make your choice.”

As the guards leave with the girl, one of the knights leaps to his feet. The other beside him just as quickly pulls him back down with a hissed, "Zack," before the king could turn and step back up the dais. Zack's hands ball into frustrated fists beside him, his heart thumping in his throat. It drowns out the court's rustling murmurs over the priestess' seldom-seen, and scandalizing, appearance before the king. The king's demands for quiet ring through the air. Zack's words are trapped behind gritted teeth.

~

Screeching calls from the antsy and ornery mounts, talons clawing at the cobblestone floor, and rattling tack rebound in Zack's head. He winces one eye and rubs one of his ears with the butt of his palm. He could never get used to the stables. The huge masonic walls, high as the great hall's walls and large enough to accommodate the flock of beasts within, amplify and echo every sound. The clamor combined with the thick musty stench of hay, droppings, and feathers, kicked up by the eager flapping of large wings make for an unpleasant experience. All the more so given the circumstances.

“I should be going with you!” he has to shout over the noise as the Knights, in full armor, saddle up. The stableboys have already seen to strapping on the leather and mail armor and saddles on the gryphons, as well as packing the knights' provisions. Enough for at least a week; more, if need be, should they hunt and forage. If Aeris is right, though – and she probably is – Zack wonders if it will be enough. Or too much. “Or you shouldn't be going at all. What Aeris- I mean, the High Priestess- what she said-”

“Our loyalty is to King and country,” Angeal's firm voice cuts through the din and Zack's protests, “We're going, and you're staying here. Command the Order in our absence. Protect the Crown and the kingdom,” The Knight shoves his boots into the stirrups before casting down a knowing smile, “And your friend as well. Make sure she stays out of trouble.” Angeal tugs the reins and steers his gryphon to the wide gate. Zack wisely steps clear. The powerful beasts are taller at the shoulder than Zack's head.

Genesis smirks as his gryphon follows Angeal's, “Yes, be a good little guard puppy.” He leans down from his seat for a patronizing pat to Zack's head. Zack groans and rolls his eyes as Genesis' snickers recede with him. Zack follows on foot. Sephiroth is already waiting for them outside, relaying orders to the others standing by. The mounted knights don their helms and pull down their hinged visors. Zack thumps his fist to his chest, and they return the salute. The Knights leave with three others from the lesser Orders, their gryphons striding several leaps forward before taking to the air with a few powerful beats of their wings.

Zack heaves a forlorn sigh – definitely not like a puppy's whimper – as he watches their silhouettes shrink to the size of mere birds in the distance. Long after they've gone from his vision, he heads back inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Warmth pours from the crater. The Knights shed woolen layers of shawls once their gryphons land near the crater's edge. The glaciers and blizzards they've just faced are like distant memories. The air drones with the Planet's low wailing, with the ache and anger of the Lifestream as it roils around the Planet's wound like a maelstrom, weaving around and through them, lighting the night sky with viridescent ribbons of green.

Cresting the edge, the crater spans across like a realm of scorched rock; of blackened, dead earth and broken, otherworldly stone. At its center, within the mist rising from sizzling soil, a crumpled hulking form.

“Genesis, Angeal, with me,” Sephiroth raises the visor of his helm, and his cool voice cuts through the whirling winds that gust around them. The hair that tumbles out from beneath his helmet fans out with the breeze around him like a white aura. “We shall greet it,” his eyes narrow at the still form, scrutinizing the being, “...or inspect it.” His measured gaze meets the other, lesser Knights, “If we are lost to it, do not fight. Fly to Midgar and inform His Highness of what's happened.”

“Yes, sire,” they nod, with a salute to their chests, drawing their gryphons back as the three of the First Order urge their gryphons onward.

Sephiroth leads the trio, flanked by his comrades and friends just a pace behind. As they near, the beasts beneath them begin to warble and cry. Wings tremble with the urge to fly, to flee. Leather creaks as fists tighten around reins, stirrups dig into the sides of their mounts to urge them on against the instinct crackling in their nerves. The stench of charred and fetid flesh washes over them. The scent of death has never been so comforting. 

As they near, the dark form shifts. The Knights draw to an abrupt halt. Dark claws scratch out from beneath the mass, reaching for the air, feeling for the energy of the Planet, of these new lifeforms. Yearning, too-long fingers writhe at the taste of the Lifestream. The claws stamp into the ground - grasping, crawling, _claiming_ \- as It works its mass towards the Knights. The humans draw their swords - just silvery sticks.

It is a lumbering mass of darkness, of violet tumors boiling and bubbling over its flesh.  The landing has grievously wounded It. Flesh and fluid ooze and fall in chunks and blobs, but as it drags over the remnants, fallen pieces and body become whole again.

“Halt!” Sephiroth swings his sword, points to It in warning, and strangely, It listens. It stops. It lies in wait. “Name yourself,” the Knight's voice is steely and his gaze is steady down the length of his blade.

Something tilts on the creature, some swollen hump at the crown of Its mass. Something like a head. The gryphons spook, rearing and flapping their wings; the Knights curse and wrestle with the reins to keep their mounts aground. Like a nightmarish mirror, It rears back, too. Bony protrusions first blister up under the skin of Its back before twin bursts of purple flesh and black feathers erupt from Its form.

The crackle and whine of magic sounds behind Sephiroth, and he shoots a fierce look over his shoulder, “Hold, Genesis!” Widening green eyes turn back to the newly winged creature, fingers ever tighter around the hilt of his sword, “What,” his words are halting and careful, “are you?”

It answers with another loll of his wretched head. Newborn wings, still dripping with a foul fluid like afterbirth, flutter behind It. Flesh churns beneath purple skin, roiling and reshaping. The mass twists and molds into new forms as the Knights watch in horrified astonishment. Silvery white hair - a mimicry of Sephiroth's magic-bleached own - seeps through pores from the crown of Its head and drapes down like a bridal shroud. From beneath the curtain, a face peers out. It is a face Sephiroth knows from a long ago memory, from carefree times, from his childhood. A face he could never forget.

His sword falters and falls from its defensive hold. His voice almost fails him.

“Mother.”

Her eyes shine red.

~

Polished armor gleams under the sun, each angle catching alight as Zack paces along the wall walk of the castle's inner walls. Billowing white clouds pass like ghosts in the sky. The winds that guide them flutter at Zack's cascade of night-black hair, at the crimson cloak emblazoned with the Shinra crest behind him. From this vantage, Midgar sprawls out beneath the raised castle and its towering walls. The wealthiest township on the Planet, its branching boroughs stretch far into the surrounding plains. The world was doomed to end a fortnight ago, yet life carries on today. Rivers of people still weave through the streets, the markets still thrive with livelihoods.

The twisting cobbled avenues teem with chocobo-drawn carriages and carts. Trade winds and a powerful military drew in the mercantile classes – and their taxable gains – from the frontier lands of the West to the Kingdom. Western pirates and bandits rarely dare tread the King's waters or land, test the might of the Guard and Knighthood. Though the West is larger, more bountiful with resources, its people are more diverse and its territories more divided. The smaller provinces can only keep to their own; the stretches of terrain between them are lawless. Under the King's army, the East rests easy.

But it is a peace balanced on a spider's thread. Hushed rumors and held breaths are shared between merchants and customers, craftsmen in their guilds, washerwomen, the entire kingdom. The Knights have not returned. The winds from the North are strangely fierce. Their King and nobility hold in their keep. The kingdom's ports, borders, and capitol are under heavier guard.

Zack leans on his elbows against the parapet, hunching beneath the weight of the Knighthood on his shoulders. His eyes scan the Northern skies. Knights on their gryphons patrol the air, but not the ones he seeks. Aeris has assured him his brothers in arms must be alive, or at least have not yet entered the Lifestream, but it is small comfort. What should have been a week – three days of flight and riding there and back from the North to learn what, if anything, was at the heart of the star – has stretched into two.

Tired eyes drift closed as he turns his face into the wind and warming sun. He'd flown his own gryphon just this morning, before having to hold court with the king, train and pass orders to the knights, act far wiser than his years and stronger than he feels. The sky calls to him again. Another flight might ease what wears at him, even if it is fleeting freedom.

He pushes off from the parapet and makes his way through the castle with memory guiding his feet. The Knight's mind drifts with the clouds. He hardly knows what hit him when another body crashes into his.

One hand gives Zack a firm shove with a scolding, “Watch-” before the other man has given a second glance at who he'd run into. The Knight knows the moment the other man realizes, though. Beautiful blue eyes beneath a castle guard's half helm run the length of Zack's body, take in his regalia, and wince. “I apologize, sir – sire.” His accent is a thick, but can't quite be placed. The guardsman first bows at the waist, but with a glance up at the Knight's bemused face, drops into a humble kneel at Zack's feet.

His head snaps up at the sound of Zack's short chuckle, and the Knight points out, “You're on the wrong knee.” The guard looks down and switches legs, waddling on his knees before bringing the opposite leg before him. The Knight's next laugh bounces down the marble walls, and he can only shake his head at the guard's puzzled look. Zack's smile remains wide as he offers his hand down, pulling the smaller man up easily. “Are you new?”

The guard shrugs and dusts his knees with one hand once he stands, “Yes, I suppose.” With his other hand, he gestures with a bundled piece of paper, and mutters an excuse, “If you'll excuse me, I'm on an errand.” He stalks off, shoulders hunching, head ducked down.

Zack quickly closes the distance with his wider stride. “Where to? I can lead you. It's a large castle-”

“No, it's alright, I'll manage,” the too-large helm shifts with the guardsman's headshake, and he has to recenter it. Zack's lips are charmed into a grin.

“Alright, then.” He carries on, though, as the other man's shadow. The guard's eyes scan each passage, studying every corridor as if each one is new. They flicker back to Zack every few minutes. A frustrated huff escapes the man's lips as Zack smiles back. The Knight offers a cheerful, “Lost?”

“No.” The guard turns down another corridor. He sees it's a dead-end from the start, and turns back. Zack follows every step of the way. Blonde brows draw down from beneath the helm, shoulders set in defiance, “Why are you following me?”

“I just happen to be going the same way.” The smile never left; the short man's shorter temper is endlessly amusing.

The guard scoffs as he turns his head to peer from a window and regain his bearings. “Down dead-ends?” 

A warm chuckle tumbles forth again as the knight waves one gauntlet towards the exit to the castle's inner bailey, “This way, perhaps?” The guard takes it and looks to the sky. He seems to know the vague direction he needs to go and immediately heads west, Knight in tow. Zack leans in ever closer, “Just tell me where you're going and I'll take you.”

The guardsman slows to a halt and sighs, turning the letter over in his hands and his options in his mind. The Knight could order him to stop, force him to speak if his patience wears too thin; and it seems there's no chance of shaking him loose. At last he mutters in defeat, “This is a letter for the High Priestess.”

Zack's eyebrows shoot up as he echos, “For the High Priestess?” Aeris never gets letters. She speaks with her people in their capitol through scrying and dream walking. And he doesn't think she knows anyone outside the castle. She's only ever allowed outside the castlewalls to draw on the Lifestream's leylines and bless the fields during the planting season. The King is fiercely protective – or possessive – of her. He reaches for the bundled paper, but the guard pulls back. A sly smile spreads on the Knight's face, “If it's a love letter, I'm afraid you're out of luck-”

“It's not a love letter,” the guard rushes in defensively, but quiets when passing heads of other guards turn. His traitorous face blushes as the handsome Knight leans in, and his mind runs through every curse he knows. “But it must be hand-delivered.” His hand tucks the letter safe against his chest, “It was an order.”

“ _Well,_ ” The Knight rears back and folds his arms across his chest, that slanting grin back again, “If it was an _order_...” His arms free themselves and urge with a vague gesture for the guardsman to follow, “Come on, then. I'll take you to her.”

The guardsman does, begrudgingly. The Knight chatters about the castle, the knighthood, the weather, but it falls into the background as they weave through the labyrinthine corridors and courtyards. The guard remains focused, eyes still watching and learning his new environs. A few of the heavy oak doors they pass are open to reveal lavish libraries, trophy rooms, and solars where nobles lounge. The castle is extravagantly – excessively – decorated; artisan furniture, gilded sculptures, floor-to-ceiling portraits all serve well enough as landmarks.

At last they arrive at the High Priestess' chambers; her own private wing of the castle. Fountains and columns are carved with floral motifs. Stained windows bloom with pink peonies and yellow lilies. A greater number of guards patrol the area; whether to keep intruders out or the Priestess in is the question. They part for the Knight and his tag-a-long. As Zack peers into an antechamber looking for Aeris, one soldier informs him that the Priestess in her garden. 

They step into the bright sunlight of a broad courtyard. A lush garden spans like a field of plenty, a treasure trove of emerald green foliage bejeweled with flowers. White stone walls and columns are all but lost beneath crawling vines and their blossoms. The mingling scents of rose, wisteria, and lavender create a heady perfume. Butterflies and bumblebees flutter from bloom to bloom. Songbirds whistle their melodies from the trees. Marble cherubs sporting tiny crowns of living baby's breath spew water into fountains heaping with waterlilies.

The Priestess' lady-in-waiting, Elmyra, sounds the alarm. “Aeris!” The woman rushes from a gazebo with a flowing pink robe to an alcove she immediately shields with the open garment, “Make yourself decent, dear!” She has always been more mother than handmaiden. 

The Priestess makes a small sound of interest, and bright green eyes peer over the edge of the robe to see who's there. Perhaps it's an errant breeze, but the plants seem to dance at the sound of her gentle chuckle, “Oh, don't be silly, it's only Zack.”

“And a _guest_ ,” the older woman hisses in a scandalized whisper. She throws a glare over her shoulder to the two offending men for daring to peek in on an improperly dressed lady, but they've already decided to take keen interest on the crawling vines behind them. 

The skirt of her simple linen underdress is hiked up and tied around her waist. The braies underneath are soiled at the knees. It's the best she can do since the King refuses to allow her sturdier clothes for her gardening, and her robes and gowns are too fine and delicate for the work. She thinks it's preposterous to consider it indecent, since any 'indecent' parts of her are covered just fine, thank you.

Aeris sighs and stuffs her arms into the sleeves, if only to appease Elmyra, but she hardly makes an effort to close the front. The robe flutters around her like pink petals as she rushes to her visitors along a roundabout path of worn stones, the only barren ground in the garden. Her bare feet make almost no sound.

Once she reaches the two, she dusts her dirt-crusted hands to release a cloud of soil and gathers up her fine silken robe to curtsy. It splits open the view of her undergarments even further, and Elmyra groans and covers her face. She retreats to the gazebo and her embroidery, leaving the youths to their frolic and folly.

Zack grabs the edges of his cloak and returns with his own dainty curtsy, a greeting they've shared in jest for years and years. It rouses a giggle from the Priestess as always. The guardsman looks on, bewildered, but mirrors the two regardless. It must be a custom he's never heard of. He doesn't have a cape to flourish with, but he does his best curtsy, too.

The Knight catches the motion from the corner of his eye, and his burst of laughter startles and the other man as well as a flock of sparrows from their roost nearby. Aeris bites her lip in an effort to contain any unladylike guffaws. It only draws her laughter through her nose, in tiny snorts, which cracks the two up further. The guard's scowling face burns as he thrusts the letter out before him, “A letter for you, your..." he fumbles for an honorific, "...Priestess."

The tinny ring of metal sounds in the guard's ears as the Knight taps an armored finger to the top of his helmet, his voice still singing with amusement, “You must doff your helm before a lady.” A sigh squeezes past grit teeth, but the guardsman complies. A riotous mess of golden blonde spikes bursts free once he removes the helm and props it against one hip. The vain attempt to smooth some of the errant tufts with the hand still gripping the letter is awkward and futile.

The Priestess' eyebrows rise, and makes several pointed motions with her green irises in silent communication with her Knighted friend; a conversation with their eyes over guardsman's comely bared face and adorable demeanor. The Knight returns with waggling black eyebrows and an appreciative nod.

A simper plays at her lips as she takes the letter from the guard's hand and holds it to her chest, “For me? You're too kind.” Aeris quirks a brown eyebrow toward the Knight, “Is this a new friend, Zack?” She leans in with a stage whisper, “He is delightful.”

With a smirk the Knight claps one hand to the man's shoulder and motions with his other arm to present the utterly unamused guard to the world. “Yes, this is, uh-” Lips purse when Zack realizes he'd never gathered the man's name. The Knight rolls his hand from the wrist, urging a response to fill in the silence.

Blonde spikes shake with his head, “Just a messenger.” Ice-blue eyes catch Aeris' gaze and the hard look there gives her pause. Paper crinkles as her fingers tense around the all but forgotten letter. The guard shrugs off the Knight's hand and gives a bow this time, “And I must be going. Good day, Lady, Sire.” He leaves without ceremony or salute.

“Hey, wait!” Zack frowns and reaches out for the fast retreating man. The guard only shoves the helm back over his head as if to shut out the Knight's protests, and disappears around the bend of the courtyard's arch. As Zack moves to follow, a hand tugs at his cloak and brings him to a halt.

“It's alright,” Aeris' voice takes the tone she's refined and mastered to mollify the oft-excitable Knight, “He must be busy, but I'm sure you'll see him again.” She rests her hand against his shoulder, but his armor is all twisting metal and hard edges that her touch cannot penetrate. Her gentle smile wilts as she looks down to the bundled letter in her hands. Her heart's pace falters.

Zack's attention rebounds, “Oh, right, the letter.” He leans in to peer at the scrawled front of the folded paper bundle, head tilting like a curious bird of prey. “Who's it from?”

“My mother.” Aeris' quiet, automatic response is almost lost as she drifts to a nearby fountain inset within an alcove, perching on the edge. She's been awaiting this letter, dreading this moment.

Zack joins her, brows drawn in concern. “Is it about the fallen star?” His heart is a stone in his chest, weighted with unease. Aeris and the royal sorcerer Hojo have been searching for answers in the unknowing silence from the North, questioning the nature of this heavenly visitor. Aeris echoed what her people in their Northern capitol sense: the Planet has been maimed and the fallen star is corrupting the Lifestream within Gaia's wound. Festering there like rot. A poison that must be cleansed. Hojo derided such a notion, remains certain that the fallen star could bring the Kingdom to greater heights. If this star is indeed such a force that can manipulate the Lifestream, it could grant them _all_ the power of the Cetra. The sorcerer's oily black eyes had set upon Aeris then, and the rancor within them had Iced her bones. In that meeting within the sorcerer's lyceum – in the close quarters cramped with musty tomes and suspect vials, in the air thick with alchemical vapors – the promise of power was all the King needed to hear. 

And all Zack longs for, all that tears at him and toils his mind and heart, is the truth: to know what's befallen his brothers in arms, what's to become of the Kingdom and the Planet, what he can _do_ about all or any of it. 

Aeris only gives a shake of her head that rattles a few errant petals and leaves loose from her tumbling brown curls. Her fingers feel strangely weak as she unties the twine around the letter. She thanks Gaia for keeping the tremble within her heart and out of her hands. Zack doesn't need another worry on his already teetering stack.

A small trinket falls from the bundle, a tiny wentletrap seashell strung on thin cord. Zack snatches it as it falls. The thick mulberry paper unfolds with sprawling script inside. Aeris holds the paper close, away from prying eyes, and Zack respects her privacy. He does watch her face, all the while, looking for any tell of what the letter reads.

“Well?” The Knight's eyes widen in wait, leaning in once Aeris has finished and begun slowly folding the paper along its creases. His neck cranes a bit farther, impatient, when she doesn't immediately answer. “ _Well?_ ”

She grants Zack a tender smile as she takes the shell from his open palm, rubbing her thumb along its grooves. “My mother sends comfort...and strength.” Her hands reach behind her neck to tie the shell near her heart. She so rarely sees her mother in the flesh. Ifalna resides in Mideel. There she ensures that the algae and seaweed grow abundantly to allow for a thriving fishing industry. They haven't lived together since Aeris was twelve. When they'd parted, when she'd clung to her mother's gown like a babe and stained the silk with her tears, her mother reassured her, 'We have the responsibility, Aeris, to help these people learn to flourish without fighting, to live with kindness.' Her mother's voice was brittle with tears as she kissed her daughter goodbye, 'To keep peace on the Planet.'

Zack's eyebrows furrow. “That's it? What about the star? What about the Planet and the poison and Angeal and Sephiroth and-” He cuts off when Aeris gives him a sad smile and turns her eyes down to the fountain where they sit. One idle hand dips into the water and chases the ripples dropped by the carved stone fountainhead. Her own patterns in the water's surface are swallowed by the tiny tides. The water lilies are just beginning to yellow and wrinkle at the edges. She rubs one velvety petal between her fingers. A barely-there shimmer of green wavers in the air like rising heat. The flowers suddenly swell with life, pearl white and thriving again.

“Just that...” she starts, but can't quite finish, yet. Doesn't know how. Aeris plucks a lily from its pad with one hand, grabs Zack's hand with the other. She nestles the bloom there, in the center of his palm. He looks down at the flower in his hand, dares to trace the paper-thin petals with his other. The lily looks all the more delicate in the Knight's armored gauntlet, but he cradles it carefully. “...everything will be alright, in the end,” she breathes at last.

Zack sighs and casts an askance glower, muttering, “Now you're only being cryptic for the sake of it.” That has Aeris laughing again, catching it into her hand. At last a grin shines back at her. The Priestess reaches up and pushes back the single lock of hair that hangs over Zack's face. Her soft green eyes crinkle warmly at the edges. The Knight is her oldest and dearest friend. She's going to miss him terribly.

“Come on,” she gives his cheek a light pat before hopping off the fountain's edge, “Help me with my garden.” Zack nods and settles the lily back into the water, leaving his itching curiosity for another time. He removes his gauntlets as he dashes up the steps of the gazebo where Elmyra holds out one hand to receive them and his cloak. She then shoos him off like he's still the boisterous adolescent she remembers. The Knight trots back down with a pup's exuberance, grateful for the distraction from their ending world.


End file.
